


169 - Domestic Cuteness

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “a fic where van and the reader are friends but both fancy each other, and incorporate some cute kitchen scenes and also like. the reader studying n van song writing in the same room and just being peaceful and cute together?” and “ Van baking is my aesthetic :’) I was just wondering if you could maybe do a baby fic about it?” Bonus mini-request of watching La La Land.





	169 - Domestic Cuteness

Gem had left for the weekend, leaving the apartment empty. A beautiful, quiet thing. You turned the heat up so that pyjama shorts and a t-shirt were enough, and set up camp in the living room. Colour coordinated notes. New pastel highlighters. Studying for exams had never been so comfortable. You were watching the kettle bubble and boil when there was a knock at the door. Glancing at the microwave's clock on the way out the kitchen, you realised it was almost eight and you'd not had dinner yet. Your stomach suddenly became aware of that too and grumbled in annoyance.

"Hey!" Van beamed as you opened the front door. "Heard Gemma went somewhere for the weekend or somethin'?" You leant against the doorframe, folded your arms across your chest and nodded. "Larry too. Can't stand being alone. Can I come hang? I brought your favourite," he said and held up a takeaway bag from your favourite Mexican place.

"Deal," you said and moved to let him in.

The burritos were good, and like always, you got to eat the side serve of corn chips and guacamole that came with Van's. Avocado was never his thing. After dinner, you sat back in your little studying nest while Van collected his bag and guitar from his car. Upon his return, he stretched out on the couch and practised melodies and created new ones.

In the beginning of your friendship, the sounds he and his guitar would make were distracting. Over time you grew used to them and having him close by while you read, worked, or studied was commonplace. You had habituated to his existence, but not your crush on him. He could still make your heart skip a beat with a small smirk. He could still make you lost for words if he looked at you the right way. It was like that for anyone that knew Van though. Gemma had a crush on him. So did the girl that worked at the café you and Van sometimes had breakfast at. The memory of her literally punching the air in happiness when you confirmed you were, in fact, not dating was still fresh in your mind. Everyone loved Van.

"Y/N," he whispered an hour after dinner. You didn't hear him. He tried again. Still, nothing. You were deep in contemplation. He set his guitar on the couch and slid down onto the floor next to you, moving your nest of blankets in the process. Your attention snapped to him. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi. What's wrong?" you asked.

"Nothing. Gonna make tea. Want some?"

You nodded and he got up and left you with a kiss on the head. It was a small thing. It probably meant nothing. But, you'd not seen him do it with anyone else.

From the kitchen, you listened to him fill the kettle and flick it on. The clinking of mugs on the bench, the rattle of the cutlery drawer. A quietness then, and you waited for him to come into the room. When he didn't, you called out.

"Van? What's wrong?"

"There's cookies!" he yelled. You smiled to yourself.

"The chocolate ones in the blue container? Gemma's,"

"Can I have one?"

"No. They're Gem's," you repeated. He walked into the room and put the tea mugs down on the coffee table. He hesitated as he figured out where to place them without disrupting your system. Then, as he plonked down next to you, you looked over at him. He was trying his best to put on a moody, pouty face. "Van. Her boyfriend made them for her," you said. He nodded but continued to pout. The longer you watched him, the harder it was for him to keep the expression in place. You could see the smirk forming. "You can sit like that all night. I'm not gonna give you permission to eat them,"

"Could bake me some,"

"You want me to stop studying for my exams to bake you cookies? Cookies you didn't even want until you saw someone else's? Van. Seriously. What are you? Like, four years old?"

"Don't you want cookies?"

"That burrito was pretty much the size of a newborn. I'm good,"

"Fine! It's fine. I don't need them. I'll be healthy instead." He got back up onto the couch and began to write in his notebook again. You watched for a few second more, to see if he was going to continue the dramatics. He settled down.

Another hour passed and again Van tried to get your attention by whispering your name. When you didn't respond, he shuffled along the couch to be sitting behind you. His fingers raked through your hair, and you let your head fall back against the chair. Looking up at him, he was frowning.

"What?"

"You need a break. Let's watch a movie or something,"

"Yeah, 'kay. Gem's boyfriend's downloaded La La Land before they left," you said as you plugged the HDMI cable into your laptop.

"This that singing one?" Van asked as he pulled your blanket nest apart to make a comfy place for the both of you on the couch. You nodded. "Bondy said it was shit,"

"He would,"

"Will I like it?"

"I… haven't seen it? How am I meant to know that?" you asked, looking at him. He shrugged.

"Do you think I'll like it?"

"I don't know. You have super fucking eclectic tastes in movies. It's fifty-fifty."

The film dragged on for over two hours. Your perception of time was skewed by three things. The first, the pacing of the film itself. Van seemed engaged and you watched his attention flick from coloured twirling dress to tap dancing feet to Emma Stone's big, big eyes. You were less enthralled. The film was aesthetically beautiful but it was a film about jazz that ignored the role people of colour played in that. Didn't matter how much chemistry Emma and Ryan had, you could only feel annoyance. Moonlight was much, much better. 

The second reason you were existing in your own warped time was that your mind hadn't let you forget about the cookies. You wanted them too but you couldn't exactly let Van win. There was definitely ingredients to make some healthy-ish oat and sultana ones though, if you wanted to. By the time Mia and Seb were floating through a starry night, you were deciding between adding a little nutmeg or a little ginger. 

Lastly, importantly, prolifically, time was moving slowly because of Van's body being so close to yours. You had started the film on opposite ends of the couch but when the final credits rolled you were tangled up together. How did it happen? Did you move first, or did he? Didn't matter. You were laying on top of him, one arm at your side, the other up near Van's shoulders, hand resting there. You wondered if he could see your face; could you pretend to be asleep?

"I really liked that," he announced. Guess not.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like how it felt like old films, but like, new at the same time. I like his voice a lot,"

"Did you know he had his own band? Made a record and everything," you told Van. "It was all spooky and stuff. Halloween themed. They were called Dead Man's Bones and I actually really dig it,"

"Huh. That's cool. Did you like it? The movie?" he asked. He was running his hand up and down your back. Even though you knew it was probably an incidental movement, mindless and aimless touching, it felt like love.

"Not a lot,"

"Is it 'cause it don't have a… like, moral of the story?" he asked. You could hear the grin in his voice before you sat up to look at him. Correct. A grin.

"What do you mean?"

"You only like movies if they are sayin' something important. Don’t just like to be entertained, do ya?" he explained, following you into a sitting position. He was right. You liked your art served with a side of politics. It wasn't a conversation you wanted to have though. You needed to change the subject.

"I'm willing to help you bake cookies," you said standing.

Van followed you into the kitchen and you listed ingredients for him to locate as you docked your iPod and put on Big Scary. Sitting at the table, Van put everything out in front of you.

"Here," he said.

"Yeah. You got dis, boy. Get a mixing bowl out. The measuring cups are in the second drawer," you replied with a nod.

Van took direction well but disregarded some of your measurement advice. He also discovered chocolate chips and decided that he could substitute the sultanas for those. You suggested both.

"You reckon I can crack this egg with one hand?" he asked, a cocky grin on his face that said he definitely thought he could crack the egg with one hand.

"You probably can, but will probably get shell in the batter,"

"Nah. Have a little faith, Y/N. I'll bet you and everything," he said.

"Yeah, alright. You make a mess and you have to do all the dishes," you replied. He frowned and snorted.

"Would have done that anyway. Can't take it back but. You win, I clean. I win… you…" Van sucked his bottom lip in and bit down while he thought and you pretended you didn’t feel it all through your body. Last time you made a bet with him, you had to do his washing for a month. The time before that he had to write you a song. The bets were always fun and friendly. Van was the type of person to bet anyone anything all the time. His face lit up when he had the idea. "I win, you have to kiss me." You stared at him and wondered if he had really just randomly had that thought, like his face told you, or if he'd wanted that from the get go and was just playing innocent.

"What?"

"Yep. That's the deal. Now get ready, 'cause I'm dead good at this." You rolled your eyes and then watched as Van perfectly cracked an egg with just his right hand. "Aaaaaaaaand just so you know it's not a fluke." The second egg was cracked perfectly too, left-handed. Van looked up and smiled wide. "See, when my parents had the bed and breakfast, I'd have to help sometimes. Only thing I didn't fuck up was the eggs."

"So… you rigged the bet?" you said slowly.

"No. I won the bet. You owe me a kiss. But I'm busy right now with these amazing cookies," he replied, pretending to not know what he'd done.

He made uneven and nonuniform balls of batter on a tray and put it in the oven. A timer was set and you followed Van back to the lounge room. Side by side on the couch, you picked up the remote and looked for something on television to watch. When you hadn't said anything half way into an old episode of Peep Show, Van bumped his shoulder into yours.

"Mmmm?" you responded.

"Are you okay?"

"Yep. Why?"

"Gone quiet,"

"I am quiet," you replied with a shrug. You could feel Van's gaze intent on you.

"Yeah, but… Is it 'cause of the kissing thing? Was that weird? I'm sorry if-"

"No!" you quickly, automatically, interrupted. You leant closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. "See? Debt paid. I'm gonna check the cookies."

After rotating the tray so there would be an even bake, you stood for a second staring down into the oven. The glowing light was mesmerising and the air smelled good.

"Y/N?"

You spun and stayed still as Van walked to you. He was in your personal space, hands behind his back, looking at the ground. He shifted from foot to foot, then looked up. You felt more than a crush.

"They're almost done," you said, speaking to fill the silence. Your voice wasn't committed though and it came out as a whisper. Van nodded and a small smile formed on his lips. He stepped closer and put his hands on your hips.

"I'm gonna… try something, and if you're not into it, just tell me to fuck off or whatever. Alright?"

At first, you didn't move or speak, but Van wasn't accepting your silence as consent. Three long seconds of stillness told you that. You nodded and slowly Van leant closer to you. His face brushed against yours, his nose running along the bridge of yours. Breathing stopped. Whatever air was in your lungs would have to do. Then, it happened. It was a small, gentle kiss. Just his lips pressed to yours for a few seconds. But, it was enough. You physically shook and Van's arms went around your waist and he held you, kissing you again. Another little kiss. He rested his head on yours, as you pressed your cheek to his chest.

When you were both ready, you moved apart and went back into the lounge. Still quiet, but comfortably so, you watched television until the ding of the oven sounded out. Van jumped up immediately and ran to the kitchen.

"How are they?" you asked from the couch.

"Hot," he called back but the word sounded both messy and painful. He'd been impatient and bitten into one. Too hot to chew.

"Drink milk," you called back.

He brought in a plate of them and two glasses of milk. They were exceptionally good. Definitely better than Gem's chocolate ones but you'd not tell Van or her that. When you were finished, Van disappeared into the kitchen for twenty minutes, returning with soft and wrinkly fingertips. He'd cleaned, despite winning the bet. It was past one in the morning and you yawned. The mirror neurons in Van's brain made him mimic you and you grinned at each other.

"You should go to bed," he said from where he was standing next to the couch. You nodded, standing up.

"You should come," you replied. You froze. "Not. Like. I mean, like, you can crash here, obviously. Not in a sleazy way,"

"Can it be in a sleazy way?" Van laughed. Pulling you into him for a hug. "I know what ya mean, Y/N."

He followed you to the bedroom and into bed. You were still in your pyjama shorts and t-shirt, and Van stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear. Under the blankets, he left a respectful distance between his body and yours. His arm leant across the space though and you tangled your fingers in his.

"Goodnight," you whispered.

Van looked at you, a sleepy, happy and dopey look on his face. "Goodnight, darlin'."


End file.
